


Being beside the sea

by Silvestria



Category: The London Life (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Gen, Hot summer days, M/M, Swimming, based on a true story from my dad, subtextual discussions of the Greeks, what happens at boarding school stays at boarding school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 05:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10587756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvestria/pseuds/Silvestria
Summary: George Hackett just wants a day out with his book. Monty has a different idea.





	

It was a baking hot Saturday and the only thing George wanted was a day to himself with no company save a cold beer and his book. So the sight of Monty Montgomery wheeling out his bicycle from the store behind him could only make his heart sink.  
  
"Where are you off to?" inquired Monty cheerfully, coming alongside him.  
  
"Coast," replied George shortly. "Some peace and quiet." He swung one leg over the saddle.  
  
"Sounds just the ticket. Mind if I tag along?"  
  
"Do what you like." He could already see all his visions of blissful solitude evaporate before him.  
  
All the same, the ride was pleasant. It was that time in early summer when the hedgerows were bursting with wild flowers, the birds were chattering and whistling above and the sun was warm without being unpleasant as it climbed higher and higher in the sky. George set a brisk pace and there was no need to communicate with Monty at all except on those occasions when he put up an unexpected burst of speed and overtook him with a whoop of triumph before weaving obnoxiously from one side of the road to another until George peddled harder to overtake so he wouldn't have to stare at him any longer.  
  
Once at the sea, George headed for his favourite pub, which had tables in a beer garden outside, overlooking the beach and its beach huts. There was plenty to look at - children playing, dogs, fishermen, walkers and others like themselves, just out for a day in the sunshine.  
  
George bought himself a beer and a cheese sandwich - and then went back and got another for Monty out of a sense of guilt. He drew a line at actually communicating with him, however, and got out his book.  
  
Monty seemed nonplussed. He lay on his back on the bench, one knee raised and visible over the table edge, and lit a cigarette.  
  
"Good book?" he asked conversationally, just at the point where George had almost forgotten he was not alone.  
  
"Excellent."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Evelyn Waugh," replied George, having left the question lingering as long as he could before good breeding compelled him to answer.  
  
"Oh really?" Monty blew a jet of smoke into the aether. "I thought you only read the classics."  
  
"Waugh is pretty much a classic."  
  
"You know what I mean." There was a pause while Monty reached for his sandwich, somehow managed to eat part of it while lying on his back, and then put it down again. "So who do you prefer more, the Greeks or the Romans?"  
  
George stared at his book for a moment without reading anything then laid it down carefully on the table. "Do you actually care, Monty? Or are you just incapable of staying silent for five minutes altogether?"  
  
A shock of red hair peeked briefly above the edge of the table. "Genuine question. You're going to Oxford for Lit Hum next year, aren't you?"  
  
"Cambridge, but yes."  
  
"Wherever. Point is, the Classicists always seem to divide themselves into Hellenists or Romanists and I'm curious. Which are you?"  
  
George rolled his eyes. "Latinist, Monty, the word is Latinist. And I suppose I would say I'm more on that side than the Greek, though the Greeks did have it better when it came to classical sculpture. There, the Romans really are the imitators and Greeks had the true appreciation of form."  
  
Monty choked on his cigarette. "Appreciation of form... You are a rum one, Selwyn! I've always been more of an admirer of the Greeks, myself, if you're at all interested."  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Suit yourself." The rest of the sandwich disappeared over the edge of the table. George read a blissful one and a half pages before Monty suddenly sat up and pulled the book away from him. "Fancy a bathe? I'm boiling."  
  
George was in fact very hot. It was the middle of the day, they had been in the sun for almost an hour now and the sea was the tempting colour that Homer called "wine dark" under the silver glitter of the sun. He inserted a bookmark and replaced Evelyn Waugh in the saddle bag. "Alright," he agreed with unexpected complacency. "Why not then?"  
  
Decision made, they jogged across to the beach with real eagerness, Monty already removing articles of clothing as he went; George was rather more circumspect and waited until they had found a suitable patch of sand to leave their clothes and bicycles.   
  
"I came prepared!" exclaimed Monty, who was quicker than he was. He pulled down his trousers to reveal a pair of tightly fitting mustard yellow swim shorts with a black belt.   
  
He struck a pose and George was struck dumb. Monty tried to meet his eyes but George was far too embarrassed. He changed quietly into his own swim shorts, in a modest maroon colour and rather longer and led the way into the water, hoping that nobody else was looking at them. Unfortunately, Monty's habit of strutting and waving to all the ladies they passed meant it was very hard to avoid receiving attention. George had hardly any experience talking to girls of any kind, save his sisters, so he'd rather not have talked to any at all but if they were going to show interest, at least Monty was soaking most of it up.  
  
In the water, it was better. He struck out with a vigorous front crawl away from the confusion of the beach and towards the darker, deeper water near the pier and for some time had a really refreshing swim. Floating on his back and watching a seagull glide far above, he wondered about Monty's question and whether, after all, it mattered whether he preferred Greeks or Romans.   
  
It took some time for him to realise his name was being shouted but when he did, the urgent nature of the calls made him splash to a vertical position in the water and look around. Monty was a way away near the pier and waving frantically. George immediately swam over, his heart pounding.  
  
"Cramp!" gasped Monty. "Damn cramp! Here - can you?"  
  
George grasped him round the waist and with a great deal of difficulty managed to manoeuvre them both over to one of the large, barnacle encrusted wooden pillars supporting the pier where they could hang on and get their breath back. George was glad of it, for Monty was larger and heavier than he was and slippery to grab onto.  
  
"Can you swim back?" he asked anxiously, pushing strands of wet hair out of his eyes. He noticed with anxiety that they had drifted further than he had planned from the beach and other swimmers.  
  
Monty grimaced. "Not sure. Probably not yet. Ugh, Selwyn, honestly, I'm meant to be the athlete of the two of us." He brightened suddenly. "Maybe if you hold me we can make it together?"  
  
"Not all the way back," George replied with a shake of his head. "Someone will see us..."  
  
Under the pier, they were in the shade and it was growing cooler as the shadows lengthened. George felt himself tiring even as he continued to tread water and give Monty the odd push and support with his free hand. The cramp would pass eventually - but he wished it would sooner rather than later.  
  
"You know," said Monty presently, "you don't have to stay with me. I'll be fine!"  
  
"I'm not leaving you," George replied, not looking at him. He missed his companion's look of profound relief.  
  
It was over half an hour before a fishing boat noticed them and took them back to shore. By this point, Monty's leg was almost fully functional but both were so cold and stiff they might not have succeeded in swimming back anyway. Wrapped in towels on the beach and supplied with mugs of tea from the fisherman's wife, they watched the sun go down, camp beds in a beach hut promised them so they did not have to cycle back to school that evening.  
  
"Thanks," said Monty after a long period of silence and concentration on the tea. He nudged George's shoulder. "I mean it."  
  
George glanced sideways at him but said nothing.  
  
"Staying with me, that was proper cricket. Real team spirit. Good of you, Selwyn."  
  
George felt uncomfortable. "I'd have done the same for anybody," he said awkwardly.  
  
Monty shrugged. "Maybe, but it wasn't anybody, it was me. Still," he added with a grin and nudged his shoulder again. "It wasn't all bad as adventures go, was it? I mean, I've had worse."  
  
George cradled his tea and stared out a the pink ripples spreading across the quiet sea. "No," he agreed with a slight sideways smile at his companion. "It wasn't all bad."


End file.
